


and since we've no place to go

by strangesmallbard



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Airports, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, F/F, Fluff, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-13 07:29:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9112756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangesmallbard/pseuds/strangesmallbard
Summary: “It’s the holidays, as you so expertly pointed out, So. How about you,” her lips form around the word and she points to Emma, then herself, “Giftme with the miracle of peace and quiet.”**In which Emma and Regina meet in an airport on Christmas Eve, and might like each other after all.





	

If Emma never hears _jingle bell rock_ ever again, it’s gonna be too soon.

As it is, she’s stuck in SFO because of a blizzard warning in Boston. Her flight is non refundable, and the cheapest _and_ earliest flight is nine in the fucking morning on christmas day, so Emma figures hey, she’s had worst christmases. At least she could pick the music for this one.

Wrong, apparently. 

A kid starts crying and while Emma relates, she’s also quickly overwhelmed by the sheer number of sights and sounds as more and more people on her flight file into the seat aisles and quickly find out that their holiday plans are postponed. Even though she’s saving her battery, it’s time to distract herself. Maybe it’s time for another round of 2048. Maybe she’ll even really go wild and actually check her email. (The last email on page one is still the weird dragon themed evite to Lily’s twenty-first like, seven years ago.)

Since her headphones are total horse shit, even screamo from circa 2005 doesn’t block a thing.

Just as she’s about to clock out and pick a nice coffee place to camp out in, a voice cuts through the mayhem like melted butter.

“Excuse me, but I am _getting on this flight_ ! I will _not miss–”_  

“Ma’am please, it’s likely going to be unsafe to land in–”

It’s probably because of the sheer audacity–most people have given up on the flight and just go up to pick a fight with the airline about new ticket prices–but Emma’s eyes follow the voice, and Wow. Alright, that’s a face. That’s quite a face. With a jawline, and lips. also, other...stuff. Her eyes are big and intense and if she turned that glare on Emma, it would probably be so embarrassing for everyone. She takes a weak breath, and sharply turns her focus back to her phone. Which is still on the home page. She can’t bring herself to change it. 

“It’s a blizzard _warning,_ not a guarantee.” 

“Ma’am, we’ll give you a flight at a reduced rate when we get the all-clear.”

“That is not good enough,” the Woman says, voice a lot for Emma to handle, but also grating all the same. The poor kid working looks about ready to cry. She worked food service in an airport, the double whammy, back when she was twenty and empathy twinges in her heart right next to her lesbianism. She gulps and tells herself get up get up, she’s wearing a shirt that costs more than anything you’ve ever owned, get up, don’t intervene, don’t–

“Hey,” she says, clears her throat and mentally punches herself in the face. Neither of them hear her, so she gets up and walks closer, and punches herself again. _“Hey._ ”

The woman glares at her.

It’s embarrassing for everyone involved. 

(She’s really, really gorgeous up close.)

Emma gulps and soldiers on even though her brain is literally screaming at her to get the hell out, get the hell out. “Look, she’s just doing her job. We’re all pissed about this flight being cancelled and it’s the holidays or whatever, so maybe…” Don’t say piss off don’t say piss off no matter how clever of a comeback (go back?) that is. She raises a brow and shrugs with one shoulder. “...Don’t?”

The woman narrows her eyes, and the agent’s eyes flick back and forth, face beat red and fingers fidgeting on the desk. People around them are pretending not to notice, but they’ve conveniently stopped their conversations and are looking anywhere but the scene in front of them. A few of them are just blatantly staring. Emma’s certain she’s about to experience a new form of death when the woman takes a deep breath and closes her eyes.

“Are you sure,” she says, voice quieter than before but no less angry, “that there are no flights going out tonight?”

The agent visibly swallows. “No, Ma’am. Our apologies, once more.” 

She sighs again and runs a hand along that jawline and up to hold the back of her neck and look up at the ceiling. After a second, Emma realizes she’s trying not to cry. Oh shit. _Oh shit._ Shittastic shit-sticks on a shitcake. After another ten seconds or so, she crosses her arms. “What’s the earliest flight you have?”

“Six, but,” her eyes flick to Emma’s again and Emma shrugs. She did all the intervening she was ever gonna do in her life. “Truthfully, we doubt the blizzard warnings will clear up before the nine o’clock flight.”

“Fine,” the woman says sharply, and glares back at Emma. “Happy?”

“Uh,” Emma says.

“I’m just trying,” the woman swallows and looks so damn close to tears. She shakes her head, and wraps her arms around herself and Emma’s stuck between _what the fuck_ and crying, herself. “Never mind.” She looks at the agent and gives a tense, but somehow sincere smile. “Thank you for the assistance. Happy Holidays.” 

She glares at Emma, again, and leaves.

In the thirty seconds it takes for her to disappear in the crowd, Emma realizes that she’s gonna be on her fucking flight. Hopefully first class, though. 

“Thanks for that,” the agent says shakily before another customer steps up to the plate. “Can I get you some complimentary peanuts?”

“I’m allergic,” Emma blurts, mock-salutes, and books it.

* * *

Since the universe hates her, she runs into The Woman at the restaurant bar an hour later.

So much for a place where she can charge her phone _and_ order a margarita.

(Also, _jingle bell rock_ is fucking playing.)

Emma’s about to mope back her gate when the woman turns her head. She stares at Emma uncomprehendingly for a moment and then her eyes narrow in complete disdain when she realizes which moron she’s looking at. “It’s _you_ ,” she says.

“Hey,” Emma says, jamming her hands into her pockets. “What’s...new?” 

She rolls her eyes. “I thought this was a big enough airport, but apparently I’ve been _wrong_ about a lot of things today.”

“Look lady, I’m not too pleased to see you again either.”

She laughs, punctuated and low. “Go to hell.”

Emma nods. “Already there, but thanks.”

“It’s the _holidays,_ as you so expertly pointed out, So. How about you,” her lips form around the word and she points to Emma, then herself, “ _Gift_ me with the miracle of peace and quiet.”

“Never was one for the holidays, actually,” Emma says, shrugging and fanning her hands still in her pockets. She quirks a corner of her lips up. “But you know what, how about I buy you a drink, first? To say sorry for meddling in your life before I leave it again. You know.” 

The woman blinks. She drops her hand, and stares. (Not glares, though.) “As my sister says, drinking before midnight is reserved for funerals and family.”

Emma snorts. “Okay, then. How about the shrimp cocktail, that any good?” 

She stares again, and then against all odds, lets out a low laugh. It goes all the way up to the crinkles by her eyes. “It’s awful, actually.”

Emma takes a leap of faith that the Grinch, her patron holiday saint, would be proud of and takes a single step forward. “Alright,” she says and points to a stray menu on the counter. “How about the grilled cheese? Can’t mess that up, right?”

She gives a small curve of a smirk, and takes a sip of her drink–coffee. “You’d be surprised,” she says. “Everything on this menu tastes like styrofoam.”

“Every place needs a secret ingredient,” Emma says. “You’re a....regular, then?” 

“Something like that,” she says, eyes leaving Emma’s and going tired. She takes another sip of coffee, and looks forward. “Buy me a slice of the cheesecake, if you’re offering. It’s passable because it’s actually from _The Cheesecake Factory._ ”  

“I’m offering,” Emma says, earnestly. “Then, I’ll go. Promises are promises.”

The woman sighs. “I can’t exactly bar you from a public restaurant….”

“Emma,” she offers. “Emma Swan.”

“Emma,” she tests.

Her stomach does something traitorous. “Coffee shops are more my style anyway.” 

She swivels to face her fully in the chair. “Stay. If you want to,” she says and points to Emma’s left hand, bandaged from work. “Tell me, _Ms. Swan,_ is meddling what you do for a living?”

Emma laughs, her first genuine laugh on the day. She flexes that hand and winces when her knuckles still ache. “I’m a bailbondsperson, so. I guess it is. Though only if you’re some white collar asshole who thinks he can escape the law because his dad’s rich.” She sticks that hand back in her pocket.  “That doesn’t seem to be your MO, so that makes me the asshole here.”

“I think that would be the blizzard at the end of the day,” she says with a huge eye-roll towards the sky, and takes another long sip of her coffee. “Anyway, I doubt my son would forgive me if I died in a snow storm. Even if I miss Christmas for the first time since we’ve known each other.” 

Something shrivels up and expands at the same time in Emma’s chest, stomach. It’s not jealousy, not since she was a kid herself. It’s taken new form in words like longing, like exhaustion and always-at-stage-five grief. She smiles, despite herself. “I mean, you could still celebrate a day late. Jesus wasn’t even born then, I think.” She snorts. “I went to catechism like, once ever, so don’t take my word for that.”

She snorts, and shifts in her seat. “Right.” She holds out a hand. “Well, my name is Regina Mills, and thanks for inadvertently being the reason why I didn’t plummet to my death.”

 _Regina Mills,_ Emma’s brain supplies on a dumb, gay loop.

She discreetly wipes her hand free of any sweat and takes Regina’s. It’s soft, because of course. “Emma Swan, like I...said before, it hasn't changed since then, or anything. Sorry, officially, for meddling.” 

“Apology accepted,” Regina says, and raises a brow. “But don’t think I’ve forgotten about that cheesecake.”

Emma laughs.

* * *

They take their coffee the same–black, with an unholy amount of sugar–and the similarities don’t end there. 

For instance, Regina also has the darkest wit and doesn’t find it unseemly or unapproachable. Emma told her favorite Santa falls off his sled joke and she almost snorted up the coffee, which made Emma laugh so hard she dropped the coffee in her lap. The waiter had to bring them napkins and more coffee. Emma’s doesn’t get embarrassed, somehow. They both wrote angsty poetry when they were fifteen that they won’t show anyone. They’ve both listened to the _Wicked_ soundtrack too many times in the car.

Also, Regina likes women. 

Emma almost does a spit take when she says _ex-girlfriend._  

“Ms. Swan, are you having a conniption?” Regina says, amusement tugging her lips up.

"The coffee’s too spicy,” Emma says. “I accidentally put pepper in it instead of salt. I mean, sugar.”

Regina’s long fingers, Regina who has an _ex-girlfriend_ , reach over and place the cylinder of sugar right next to Emma’s hand. “You know,” she drawls. “This looks pretty different from the salt shaker.” 

“Uh-huh,” Emma says. “Yep.” She takes two big gulps of her coffee to calm down, which in two seconds of hindsight, was not her best course of action. “So what’s your favorite movie?”

“Star Wars,” Regina says, not even thinking about it for a second.

“Wow, didn’t think of you as Sci-Fi,” Emma says. “More….” she squints. “Either Mr. and Mrs. Smith or a secret love of disney movies.” She smirks. “Or maybe Carol?”

Regina raises a brow, but just sips her coffee again.

Emma nudges her hand with her mug. “Mine’s _H_ _ome Alone_ , actually. Me and a friend used to draw up plans to booby trap our....folks. Never went through with it, obviously.” She shrugs. “Except to prank this punk ass bully who lived around the corner. He got a face full of mayonnaise, if I’m remembering right.”

“ _Booby_ trap your parents?” Regina says, amused.

Woops. Backstory nearly unlocked, Swan. She feels her neck grow hot, and she clears her throat a few times. “Yeah,” she says and tugs at a piece of hair. “You know.”

Emma decides to look around at the bar restaurant, properly, for the first time. Pretty standard. Everyone’s tired as shit, the tablecloths are beige, and _oh fuck–_

“Shit,” she hisses, and immediately drops to the floor, crouches. “Shit, fuck.”

Regina looks down at her like she just grew an extra head that started singing _4 Blondes_. “If you dropped your stirring stick, I’m sure that Brad over there can get you a new one.”

She shakes her head. “No, look over at your ten.”

“My what?”

“White dude eating corn on a cob.”

“What are you, some kind of failed undercover CIA operative?”

Emma sputters. “Failed?”

“That man you just pointed out has been looking over here since _you_...did that. Oh look, he just waved at me.” Regina lightly kicks her in the thigh. “Do something.”

 _“_ Do what?”

_“Emma.”_

“Tell me when he stops looking.”

“Ugh.” 

“....Did he stop looking?” 

“I’m going to drop kick your luggage into an airplane fan.” 

“Later, did he stop looking?” 

“Yes, Ms. Swan. Now please–”

“Come down here with me,” Emma says quickly, and lightly touches Regina’s hand, which has since fallen by her lap. It feels kind of like proposing marriage, and she promptly shoves that thought somewhere the sun never fucking shined. 

“What,” Regina hisses. “You want me to…” she shakes her head and laughs. “I’m dreaming.”

“Listen, I wish I was.”

With much more grace than her, Regina slides her heels off and slips down. “I’m glad I decided to wear slacks today,” she mutters, both brows raised. She leans an elbow on her knees, for balance probably. “I’m only staying like this for a minute, so prepare your elevator speech.”

“Who the fuck says slacks,” Emma mutters. 

“Fifty seconds.”

“Okay so, I worked in an airport once in Boston. It was also in a Sbarro in an airport, so. It was pretty gnarly. That guy out there,” she points with a finger in his general direction, “was my former coworker, and he hit on me at least four times a shift. So…” Emma clears her throat and asks, once again, why the universe goddamn hates her so much. “You know, I’d rather not see him ever again?” 

Regina blinks. “I see,” she says. Her eyes narrow, and a snarl forms on her lips, and oh fuck what if _she’s_ the undercover CIA operative. Her eyes flicker to Emma’s. “So what’s the plan?” she says, voice low and a bit dangerous. 

“What,” Emma croaks. 

“For getting you out of here without alerting him.”

“Ah,” Emma says and takes a deep breath. “Well, I haven’t gotten that far.”

“Okay,” Regina says. “This is a start.” She flicks her eyes around them. “This restaurant only has one exit, and it’s unfortunately right by this unfortunate man.” 

Emma takes a deep breath. “So we run and hope for the best?”

“That’ll call attention to ourselves,” Regina says, shaking her head. “Best bet is we get up, sit down for a second, and then walk out talking like nothing’s wrong.” 

“Ladies?”

It’s the waiter. Brad. 

Regina pops up first, followed by Emma. One of them almost trips on the way and so they end up kind of squished together on their stools, “I was just helping my friend here...find....her earring. it fell,” Emma says, eyes flitting back to her ex-coworker, who’s still super into his corn on the cob and thankfully hasn’t looked back at the bar. 

“Right,” Brad says, and looks at Regina’s earring, which is still on her ear. “You have a nice night, now,” he says, and walks away. Brad’s probably seen a lot.

Regina slips back into her heels and looks at her. She mouths _on three?’_

Emma nods. 

Regina counts off her with fingers and mouths again, _one, two, three_

They grab their bags and they’re off, Regina surreptitiously trying to stand between Ex-Coworker and Emma.

“So, great weather we’re having,” Emma murmurs.

“Truly,” Regina says. “The best weather. Couldn’t ask for better.”

“Yep, also...”

Almost there almost there almost there–

“Emma Swan? Is that you?” 

Fuck. Fuckshit. She looks over at him, and he’s still holding the corn on the cob, looking over at her incredulously. She swallows. “Uh, _hey–_ ” 

“That’s her twin sister, actually. Ermengarde Swan,” Regina says quickly, and slides their hands together, lightly, barely even touching honestly. “And I’m her _wife_ , so _back off._ ” 

Emma’s definitely having that conniption now. She takes Regina’s hand more firmly and lifts it up. Ex-Coworker’s eyes widen. “What the lady said. Bye!” 

They run out of the bar restaurant, hand in hand.

* * *

 They go past three gates before Emma realizes they could have dropped hands like, three gates ago. Also, Regina’s really good at running in heels. She stands by her spy theory.

“Ermen…” she says, wheezing on her knees by the Sees candy cart. _“Ermengarde?”_

Regina also doubles over and leans her head against the peanut brittle. “It was...my grandmother’s name….” she coughs. “On my mother’s side.” 

“You gave my fake twin sister your _dead grandma’s_ name?” 

“It was the first _E_ name to come to mind!”

Emma flaps the sides of jacket to generate cold air. “Why did it have to be an _e_ name?”

Regina waves her hand. “You know!” she waves it again. _“Twins!”_  

She looks at Emma, panting. Emma looks at her, panting. 

They both absolutely lose it. 

Regina doubles over again against the See’s cart, snorting and wheezing among bells and more bells, her hand clutching the counter top. Emma just falls to the ground, holding her stomach and thinking _wow her laugh is so much_ and _ow, airports really skimp on carpet quality_. 

Somehow, this could turn out to be one of the best Christmases she’s ever had. 

* * *

After they goddamn pull themselves together, Regina suggests her favorite spot in the airport. The fountain by gate 4b.

She hasn’t brought anyone to this spot yet. She’s still planning on bringing Henry when they see _Wicked_ in San Francisco over the summer. Knots tie in her stomach when she thinks of her son, but she knows that he’s safe and sound with Marian and Roland and probably sleeping, dreaming of whatever’s under the tree even though he doesn’t believe in Santa anymore. He’s thirteen now. He doesn’t need her on the holidays like he used to, _but._

Well. Like she said, better than dying in a snowstorm. She supposes.

They’re silent on the way. Emma stuffs her hands in her pockets and occasionally mutters _Ermengarde_ with a stifled snort of a laugh. There are still people milling about, but they’re far fewer in number than when Regina yanked herself through to the front desk at gate 2a earlier. 

She does need to apologize to that agent. If she sees her again.

She catches Emma’s eyes, and she quirks her lips up in acknowledgement, but says nothing.

“This way,” Regina murmurs once they pass a _Max’s Diner_. She turns the corner and immediately her shoulders relax at the sound of the waterfall, even if it’s just the audio now. She gestures to the cluster of seats around it, and they sit down with great big exhalations.

“If we see him again,” Regina says, looking over at Emma. “Do you want to call security?”

She shrugs. “Might as well,” she says. “He always immediately backs off when scared by people with more authority.” She purses her lips, and then flicks her eyes over to Regina’s with a raised brow. “Thanks. Even if _Ermengarde_ is still–”

“Oh _please_ ,” Regina says with a stifled laugh of her own. “Of course,” she says softly, firmly. “You’re welcome.”

They sit back. Emma takes out her phone. Regina thinks about doing the same, but Henry went to sleep around ten. He still likes his early sleep schedule, even though he’s a teenager now. 

Regina’s left with the waterfall audio, the intercom still playing Christmas music, and her own damn thoughts. 

Emma Swan is like a breath of fresh spring air clad in hideous faux leather.

She should have told her to go, but she didn’t want to. She doesn’t believe in love at first sight, not anymore, since she was a girl who believed wholeheartedly that a fairytale prince was going to sweep her off her feet, but. There’s something to be said about clicking.

They click. 

It’s nice, even if they’ll go their separate ways. She hasn’t _clicked_ with anyone in ages. She hasn’t had the energy. There’s Kathryn at the office and Marian, and that’s all she’s needed besides her son. She looks back at Emma, and tries to keep the smile off her face, and the twinge from her chest. Oh well. She hopes they can stay facebook friends, at least. 

(There’s also something to be said about _falling in love_ , but Regina banishes that thought to another universe.)

“So,” Emma says. “Nice fake fountain.”

Regina rolls her eyes, “It’s a very real fountain that happens to be saving the environment right now.”

“Very courteous of it,” Emma says. “I think I have this audio track saved on my sleep album.”

“If you’d like to sleep, we can take shifts,” Regina says. 

“Oh so are we a _we_ now?” Emma says and her eyes widen immediately, realizing her implication. Regina can see her swallow. “I mean–” 

“We’re married, aren’t we, Erma?”

Emma bursts into laughter again. “Please tell me that wasn’t your grandma’s nickname.”

Regina shrugs slowly. “It isn’t so weird if you think about how most long names are shortened by using the first half or the second.” 

“Like...Reggie? Gina?”

Regina shakes her head. “I’d rather drop dead.” 

“Please don’t. I’d have to hide your body in this fake ass fountain, and that’d cover up the aesthetic audio.” 

Regina smiles pleasantly. “My corpse thanks you for your consideration.” 

Emma smiles back and they are a lot, lot closer that Regina realized. She can see flecks of hazel in her eyes, count the freckles on Emma’s face. She clears her throat. “I believe...we were talking about movies?” 

Emma blinks. “Oh right,” she says. “We were talking about....” she smirks again, looks at Regina and leans forward.  “Carol, weren’t we? Cate Blanchett...a–”

Her phone rings out _The X Files_ theme song. Henry’s ringtone choice of the month. She stares in disbelief at the screen–a picture of him in at Granny’s with a hot chocolate mustache.

Emma’s lips curve up. “New case, Agent Scully?”

“It’s my son,” Regina says, heart racing in excitement. Emma raises both her brows and she stares at Regina, then the phone, then back to her. Her forehead creases and it gives her the appearance of worry, though she’s sure that’s not right.

Regina smiles apologetically. “Do you…”

Emma nods and smiles back, her forehead smoothing out. “Of course! yeah, of course.  I’ll just…” she points behind her and starts to stand. Regina thinks about stopping her, but before she can follow through, Emma’s scrambled too far away to reach. Regina, still caught by the ringing phone, only gathers her thoughts when Emma is already a yard away, hands jammed deep in her pockets.

“Emma, wait.”

She turns around, eyes stricken but smiling. “Yeah?”

“I…” _What in the entire hell_ is she doing. She shifts in her seat. “Where are you going?”

Her eyes widen and she shrugs, hands still in her pocket. “Uh, you know….got hungry. Thought I saw a Starbucks still open.” She shifts on her feet. “Do you want anything?” 

She doesn’t know how to say the thought of Emma Swan leaving her side now seems remarkably unbearable, so she says, “Those chips with the peanut oil? And a bottled frappuccino.”

Emma’s smile manages to reach her eyes, if only for a second. “Sure.” She turns back and leaves and Regina wonders if one day, she’ll just remember that jacket and nothing else.

Regina shakes her head free of _those_ thoughts and answers her phone. “Henry!” she says, voice high with excitement. “Why aren’t you asleep? It’s almost three AM your time!”

“Mom,” her son says, voice _too_ deep. “Come on, Mom, I couldn’t go to bed without saying Merry Christmas!”

“I’ll be there tomorrow, sweetheart,” she says, unable to stop smiling, regardless. “I told you earlier, I’m taking the first plane back. I’ll be back before you try to sneak any eggnog from tía Marian’s fridge.” 

She hears the wrinkle in his nose. “Ha-ha, Mom.” 

“It’s not that good anyway,” she stage whispers. 

“I know,” he stage whispers back. “Anyway, I just wanted to make sure you were…doing okay.” 

Her stomach feels warm.  “Oh,” she says. “I’m doing alright, mijo. I…” she laughs under her breath and looks at Emma’s empty seat. “I found some interesting company.”

“ _You_ found interesting company. In an airport.” 

She rolls her eyes even though he can’t see. “Yes, it so happens I did.”

“What happened to telling people you’re an IRS agent so they’ll never talk to you?” 

“Well, it works.”

“So this person instead likes IRS agents?”

“She’s very interesting company,” Regina says, insufficiently.

“Mom,” Henry says. 

“Henry,” Regina says.

He says nothing for a little while. She watches Emma’s seat and when that starts to get pathetic, she watches the fountain, which is admittedly less soothing without actual running water.

“Is she funny?”

“She tries.”

“Is she...a gemini?”

 _“Henry_.” 

“Alright, alright. ‘Night Mom. Merry Christmas. Call me when you get off the plane?”

“Of course.” She smiles, and wishes so much she could hug him. “Merry Christmas, my little prince. I’m so sorry I can’t be there with you to open presents tomorrow.”

“We’ll wait,” Henry says. “Well, _I’ll_ wait. I’m not sure Roland can.”

She laughs. “I’ll forgive him. Henry, if you want–”

“No,” he says, firmly. “It’s not Christmas until you get here.”

God, she wants to cry again. “Okay, baby.”

She sees Emma rounding the corner, and her heart does something annoying. She’s holding those chips and about four glass bottles of frappuccino, precariously balanced in her arms. She catches Regina’s gaze and smiles, not stricken or strained at all. She lifts up one of the bottles to show her, and the others almost fall. She does a series of idiot acrobatics to catch them, and smiles at Regina again, sheepishly.

Regina rolls her eyes, but smiles back. “Are you ready for _The Phantom Menace_ tomorrow?”

She points at Emma’s bottles and she shrugs, and begins to arranges them on the empty seat next to her.

“Of course, Mom! I already told Roland that he could hide during the scary parts and we’d still think he’s brave.”

“I’ll consider _you_ brave too,” she teases. “I’m proud of you, mijo. You’re very good with him.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” he says. “I love you, Mom. Say hi to your _interesting_ new friend for me.”

She raises a brow at Emma and covers the receiver with her hand. “My son says hello.”

Emma awkwardly waves with a grin. “Hey!” 

“She says _hey_ ,” Regina offers with exaggeration.

Emma rolls her eyes.

He laughs. “Goodnight, Mom. I love you.”

“I love you too, Henry. See you tomorrow!" 

He hangs up, and she continues to smile at her phone.

“How old is he?” Emma asks.

She clicks her phone off. “Thirteen,” she says, proud and as always, a little morose. 

“Wow,” Emma says, looking forward. “I...” she shrugs. “Never mind.” She lifts up one of the frappuccinos. “Coffee?”

“Emma,” Regina says. “Why are there _four?”_

She waves her hand around, like that explains everything. “I didn’t know what flavor you liked? So I was just gonna go for the regular coffee flavor, but I thought _hey it’s Christmas_ or...something, you know, so I bought caramel and chocolate too.” She holds one up.  
"Nothing more festive than overpriced coffee and milk, right?”

she takes it and doesn’t pay attention to how their fingers brush. she goes to grab her wallet from her purse. “I’ll pay you back, how much–”

Emma holds up a hand and shrugs. “Consider it a gift.”

Her hands rest over her purse and she squeezes it to keep from fidgeting. “Well. You never _did_ get me that cheesecake.”

Emma laughs and rubs the back of her neck.

They fall uneasily into silence. Regina watches the fountain, but wants to be watching Emma, so her eyes keep flicking over. Emma’s crossed one leg across her knee and drums her fingertips on it, staring forward. That same stricken look in her eyes. Regina wants to say something, ask if she’s alright, that the holidays tend to bring up everything for her too, that having her son has made her see anything good about them, but doesn’t know if she should, or what’s appropriate right now. God, how long has it been since she’s made a _new friend._ This is embarrassing. She’s embarrassed.

There’s also the issue of her stomach doing flips when Emma looks at her. A real issue.

“So, movies?” she tries, clearing her throat.

“Right,” Emma says, shaking her head. “So...” 

“Sad to say, but I haven’t actually seen Carol yet.”

Emma’s eyes widen. “Okay, so we’re torrenting that later from the Starbucks next door.”

“You know how to…? I won’t ask." 

“You already did, and it’s a fairly basic I’ve-been-online-since-2004 skill.”

“Anyway,” Regina says slowly. “Maybe we should move on to books.”

“Easy. Harry Potter. Hell, I think I’ve actually slept in a cupboard before.” Regina looks at her in sudden concern, and Emma leans back, shaking her head a little frantically. “Never mind, back to movies. Why Star Wars?” She makes a gun with her fingers. “Blasters or lightsabers?”

“Lightsabers,” she says. “You can get blasters in any old space flick.” She takes a deep breath. “It’s...my dad loved Star Wars and we watched it in order every year around New Years. I wasn’t sure it would carry over after he passed, but the only toy Henry brought with him from his last home was this....carnival stuffed wookie. He said he wanted to be like _Mr. Solo_ when he grew up,” she laughs hoarsely, draws her eyebrows in. “I told him he’d probably prefer Han, but he said that _grown ups had to be referred to with respect,”_ she swallows, clears her throat. “I wanted to give him my happy memories of the series.” 

“From a home,” Emma says quietly, watches her. “You adopted him,” she says, and she looks pensive at the corners of her face, in the creases of her eyes. “How many years?”

“Officially five, but he’s been with me about nine.”

“Wow, he’s...” Emma says, watching her. “You seem like a great mom, Regina.” 

She smiles, tightly.  “I try to be. Unfortunately, I didn't have the best picture of motherhood to work from,” she says, clearing her throat and putting a hand over her mocha frappe cap, still unopened.

Emma shifts in her seat. “Me neither, not that I have a kid, but if I were...” She lets out a harsh breath. “Did he ever stop calling Han _Mr. Solo?”_  

Regina tilts her head. “He did,” she says.

Emma smiles back, wide and sure. “Good,” she murmurs. “Good.”

Still, in the creases is evidence of that smile, a something lurking with sadness, with living, with a lot of cold nights. Regina knows that something. She’s seen it in the mirror before, months after Daddy died and she wanted nothing more than to hear his voice. Mother calling her name from downstairs, that lilt that still puts her on edge, even if it’s just in videos. 

Emma looks around the gate, the string lights around this gate, now turned off for the night, at a plastic tree tucked into the corner. Her smile dims. All of her dims. “Sorry,” she says. “For being stuck with,” she laughs. “You know, shitty coffee.”

Regina watches her, watches her hand keep wringing and glance around them. Nothing has played on the intercom for a few hours now, and Regina watches this woman who talked to her all night, who didn’t leave her alone for the holidays when she had every reason to. With a smile that could light up a room, a quick wit, and a lot of other things swirling in Regina’s mind, in her hands that struggle not to fidget.

 _I know,_ Regina thinks _, I know I know. When it’s the end of the holidays, and you’re supposed to be happy, but you’re not, and it’s not your fault, but you feel like it is. I know._  

“Well, a blizzard warning _was_ less than ideal, but. I am glad I met you, Emma Swan,” she says, and places a hand on the arm of the chair between them.

Emma watches her hand on the arm. She swallows and looks up with a shaky smile. “Even though we’re stuck in an airport on Christmas Eve?”

“Yes,” Regina says. “Though I hope you’re not stuck in an airport next year.”

“I’d be stuck again if it were with you,” Emma says and immediately clears her throat, neck flushing. She rubs at her nose. “I mean, you’re good company.” 

Regina laughs. “Usually I’m a terror in airports. As you saw.”

“If he means _terr_ ible at fake names, then yeah. You know what,” Emma says, staring at her very seriously. “You are definitely not CIA. I didn’t know how I couldn’t see it before.”

“What?”

“I mean, _first_ you–”

“You were saying something about watching Carol?” Regina says primly.

Emma smirks. “Oh now you’re fine with committing a felony.”

“Please.” 

“It’s not a felony. That was an exaggeration. For the joke.”

“Yes, I’ve become familiar enough with your humor to understand the joke, but that does not mean I have to laugh.” 

They’re close again. Regina starts to count her freckles so she won’t do something idiotic like stare at her eyes, or worse, her _lips_. “Regina,” Emma murmurs. 

“Yes?” Regina says.

“Thanks for...letting me not buy you cheesecake and not turning me away after I meddled?”

Regina swallows. “I think you said that already.”

“Yeah,” Emma says, and stares. “But...the holidays suck. A little bit. So,” she smiles, and it reaches her eyes the most it has all night. “Thanks.” 

She twists her hand around the mocha bottle and smiles back. “You’re welcome,” she murmurs, and wants. To do something just so idiotic, and her heart beat beat beats. 

Emma stands, tucking hair behind her ears, and gestures to a laptop-shaped bag in front of her. “Well, uh, ready for some torrent and chill? We should probably set up closer to the Starbucks, which is....on the left side, I think. I’ll check.”

She puts her hands on her knees and stands too. Grabbing her bags, she walks a little bit passed Emma. “I know another good place in this terminal. _Erma_ ,” she says, pointedly with a smile, turns around, and starts walking.

She hears Emma do something suspiciously like a spit-take behind her. 

* * *

Carol is fairly good, though the video quality was just _average_ according Emma–also they couldn’t meet eyes the _entire_ duration of the sex scene–and they talk for a little more, tucked next to each other under respective scratchy blue blankets handed out by a passing flight attendant. They fall asleep a little after five, and Regina wakes up with Emma’s head on her shoulder. Her shampoo smells like roses.

So. That is quite a lot to handle.

When Emma wakes up, she starts and scoots away, apologizing.

Regina says _it’s okay_ followed by _thank god our bags weren’t stolen._  

There are more people, and suddenly it feels like the night was just some kind of _Christmas Carol-_ esque dream, but Emma accidentally introduces herself as Ermengarde to the agent when asking a question about snowstorms, so. It must have been real. 

She has a friend. 

She’s not sure if she’s going to _keep_ a friend, but she has one right now, and Emma just muttered _why do the planes have fucking faces_ and Regina laughed, because she’s sleep deprived–Emma _isn’t_ funny–and she has a friend.

When she sits in her business class seat, she immediately feels cold.

* * *

Emma’s kinda fucked.

She’s not like, in love or anything, because that would be ridiculous, but she’s, well. Regina Mills is a lot, and Emma feels like the biggest imbecilic fuck standing by the gate while passengers frantically leave hell that is airplane flight, waiting for a person who might be surprised that she waited, and not in a good way. Six hours is a long flight. Anything could change, but–

She has a son named Henry who was adopted from foster care. She saw a kid who another family gave up, and didn’t give up on him at all. That’s super not a reason to immediately fall in love, but the _way_ Regina looked when she talked about him. Soft smiles and soft eyes and her whole face just so full of everything. 

To be loved by her. It must be. Well, a lot.

She’s suddenly so struck by the difference in first impression to now that she begins _laughing._ And laughing and laughing. She almost spits up some mystery phlegm and someone waiting for the gate stares at her. She gives them a thumbs up.

(Regina also apologized to the same agent from yesterday. In her own way.) 

(She gave her the caramel frappe.)

“Emma?” Regina’s voice is higher. She looks shocked, and Emma decides not to decide whether it’s in a good way or not. 

“Hi,” Emma says, more fucked than she intends. “I was wondering if... Do you wanna walk down to baggage claim together?” she asks, clearing her throat. “Make sure we don’t, you know, get lost or something?” 

“Sure,” Regina says, and holds a hand out as if to say, lead the way.

Emma heaves her bag over her shoulder and breathes, breathes.

* * *

 A woman and two boys are waiting for Regina.

(There’s no one for Emma, but it’s not like she expected anyone.)

The woman is beaming and so are the boys and oh– oh wait. Oh shit.

The older boy, Henry she assumes, runs to Regina and she wraps him in a bear hug, kisses his temple. Emma thinks she hears _Merry Christmas, mijo_ and swallows, steps back and away, tries to make herself absolutely invisible. The last thing she wants to do is intrude. 

“Henry,” Regina says after they let go, though Regina still holds onto his shoulders from the side. “This is Emma, my new…” she tilts her head and smiles. “My new friend.” 

Henry raises an intelligent brow at her. “The _interesting_ one.”

“Wow,” Emma says with a sardonic grin. “I didn’t know you thought so highly of me.”

“My _friend_ ,” Regina emphasizes and squeezes his shoulder. That shouldn’t break her heart, like at all, she wants nothing more than to be friends past this airport adventure. “Introduce yourself, sweetheart, like the polite boy I raised.” 

“You wouldn’t like me if I were just _polite_ , mom,” Henry says, rolling his eyes.

“I’d love you no matter what, now _introduce_ yourself while I say hello to your tía.” 

Tía. That means aunt. Aunt. _Aunt._ Aunt–

“Henry told me that you got a girlfriend, but I suspect that’s not true,” Marian hums, stepping towards them. Emma flushes and if she’s not mistaken, so does Regina, but then she and Marian are hugging and laughing, swaying back and forth. Marian plants a big one on Regina’s face and she pushes her away, mocking disgust. 

The little boy next to her jumps up and down saying _Regina Regina Regina_ , and she leans down to his level to gives him a great big hug and kiss, saying how much she missed him.

Emma watches, heart breaking and mending, breaking and mending, and then she hears someone clear their throat. Oh, shit.

“My name’s Henry,” he says, and sticks out his hand. “And you’re Emma.”

She grins and takes his hand in a surprisingly firm handshake. “Yep, good listening skills, kid.” 

He sighs. “That’s Marian’s nickname for me too.”

 _Marian_ overhears and comes over to fluffs his hair. “That’s because you’ll always be a kid to me, kiddo.” He pushes her hand away, but laughs, and Emma, once again, feels like she’s intruding. 

Until Regina looks at her. 

“Marian Reyes,” the woman says, offering a hand. Emma takes it. She has a twinkle in her eye and a lopsided smile. “Thanks for keeping her company. She hates these business trips.” 

“Hate is a strong word,” Regina hums.

“You _love_ strong words,” Marian says. “They’re your favorite words. You use them all the time when you stay over and I’m out of coffee.”

Regina rolls her eyes.  

She sticks her hands in her jacket pockets. “I’m glad I... It was pretty much, you know, more fun than most airport experiences.”

Regina looks at her, and Emma can’t tell at all what she’s thinking.

Marian looks between them and gives a very, very troubling smile. “Boys!” she says, and the little one looks up in attention. “Let’s go get Regina’s luggage, come on. The woman’s been on a plane for six hours and probably never wants to see a suitcase again.”

Roland gives a happy yell, running for the trolley and Marian curses under her breath and chases after him, but not before she turns her head and _winks_ at them first. 

Henry tilts his head at all of the them, but decides to follow Marian, shouting “Roland! Wait up, buddy!”

Then. It’s just them.

(And the like, hundreds of passengers.)

Regina sticks her hands in her pockets too. “So,” she says.

“So,” Emma says back. “It’s been...I’m sorry that torrent was so shitty,” Emma says, totally chickening out.

Regina laughs. “You could still see...a lot,” she says, definitely flushing.

Emma clears her throat. “Yes, uh, yeah.”

“Yes,” Regina says and steps just a little closer. She takes her hands out of her pockets and smiles, sad and something else. She clasps her hands together. “So…” 

Emma puts her hands on her hips, and then stops doing that. “I’m…”

Regina smiles and continues to watch her, lets out a breath.

Emma shifts on her feet and takes a deep breath. Here goes nothing. (Everything.) “Do you. I mean, you live in, you know, Maine so this might be hard, but do you want to grab coffee? Sometime?”

Regina’s eyes are bright, and she steps forward. Emma can smell her perfume now, which makes her just a little dazed. “i’d like that,” she says.

Emma bounces on her heels, and tries to not. “We could meet in New Hampshire if we want to go halfsies on distance.”

Regina laughs. “How about we exchange phone numbers and figure it out?”

Emma starts rolling up her sleeve and then stops, snorts. “Uh, I was about to give you my arm? To write on? But you know, smart phones exist.”

She raises a brow. “Old school,” she drawls, and takes out a _fountain pen_ from her pants pocket. Shocked and wildly aroused, Emma holds out her arm. Regina neatly writes her phone number and then her full name, in cursive. She looks up after she’s done and purses her lips, but Emma can see the mirth in the creases by her eyes. “I like that,” she says, stepping back.

“Well,” Emma says, short circuiting. “Catch me at the skate park after dark?”

Regina laughs again, big and full. “I should…” her brow creases at the center. “Henry, I–” 

Emma lifts up a hand. “I’ll call you,” she says. “Or...you know, text. Smartphones existing, and all. Hey, how do you feel about emojis?”

“You’ll see,” she says, smiling devilishly. “Goodbye, _Ms. Swan._ ”

She turns to go and Emma has deja vu seeing her silky blue shirt, her jacket folded over her arm. “Regina,” she says softly.

She turns around. 

Emma rubs the back of her neck and breaths. “Thanks for...I’m glad that,” she swallows. “I’m really glad that I met you too.” 

Regina tilts her head, and waves. 

Emma waves back. 

A minute passes and she’s still rooted to the floor and feels like floating up, up, and away. With the fucking reindeer. Singing _jingle bell rock_ at full volume.

**Author's Note:**

> this is totally late, oops. many, many thanks to 13pens for all of her help and advice on this. i hope you all enjoyed, and please leave a comment if you're inclined!
> 
> (title is from "let it snow" by frank sinatra)


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